The summit hadn’t formally ended, but the energy in the room had shifted. Archangel closed the proposal floor temporarily, encouraging units to share data and continue informal dialogue. Without structure holding them in place, most of the Guardians broke off into small groups—some reconnecting like old squadmates, others trading breach strategies or comparing failed design proposals. It no longer felt like a council of war. It felt like an uneasy reunion.


    Adam didn’t hesitate. He walked straight toward the Guardian still lounging near the back—aviators still perched on his head, casual military shirt still untucked. Morgan Patel didn’t move, didn’t stand, just raised one eyebrow as Adam approached.


    “You’re really here,” Adam said.


    “Told you I never die easy,” Morgan grinned.


    They didn’t shake hands. They went straight into a hug—firm, real, with that awkward shoulder slap only men who’ve shared hell ever seem to get right. Neither said anything for a few seconds.


    Adam pulled back slightly. “Goddamn, Morgan. They got you too?”


    Morgan’s smile faded into something closer to acceptance. “Yeah. Different project, different protocols. Same end result.”


    “How long?”


    “Fifteen years.”


    Adam blinked. “Jesus Christ!?”


    “Yeah,” Morgan said, eyes drifting toward the open chamber. “It doesn’t feel like that long in here, but… yeah. Woke up sometime around Cycle 03. Got dumped into a sector outside New Johannesburg. It was a mess. Half the city was already gone, and the other half wanted us dead just as much as the demons did.”


    “Damn…” Adam muttered. “So how did you die? You vanished sometime around Emma’s second birthday. The guys couldn’t figure out where you went.”


    Morgan’s jaw tensed just slightly, but he didn’t look away.


    “…a drug bust…”


    Adam blinked. “What?”


    Morgan let out a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “That’s how I died. After all the ops, after all the deployments, and all the black zone work... I got shot during a goddamn raid on a cartel warehouse outside El Paso.”


    Adam just stared at him. You''re telling him that the man, for whom many joked was the terminator of the Middle East, died in a drug bust?


    “I was working liaison for a PMC after I got out of the military,” Morgan continued. “Joint op with local enforcement. We thought it was a meth lab. Turned out to be a full-blown distribution hub with embedded mercs. Took a round through the neck. Didn’t even get my sidearm up.”


    Adam leaned back, processing it.


    “I assumed it was some off-book mission,” he said. “KIA in some small town or village in Syria or something.”


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    Morgan smirked, but there wasn’t much humor behind it. “Yeah, I wish. Would’ve been cleaner. At least then it would’ve made sense. But nah—got dropped on a linoleum floor between boxes of narcotics and a knocked-over soda machine.”


    He shook his head and exhaled. “That was the last thing I saw. One of the local cops screaming, and the fluorescent lights overhead flickering.”


    Adam didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much to say.


    Morgan glanced over. “Enough about me, though, how did you die?”


    Adam let out a breath of air as he looked towards the ceiling. “Oh bo,y is this going to take a moment…”


    ***


    “...So some random ass dude pushed you into oncoming traffic? really?”


    Adam gave a dry shrug. “Yeah. You got dropped by cartel mercs in a warehouse. I got sidewalk-assisted suicide in the capital. At the veryt least, you got to go out like a badass.”


    Morgan opened his mouth to respond, but another voice cut in before he could.


    “Your speech was unexpected, Guardian-07.”


    Adam turned, eyes narrowing slightly as Archangel approached. The wings were dimmed now, retracted and folded clean against his back, but the pressure of his presence hadn’t faded. Adam felt as though this man was about to go into prayer at any moment with the look currently in his eyes.


    “Thank you?” Adam said, not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.


    Archangel stopped just short of them. “It was truly unorthodox but it appears it helped to push the discussion further. Already, I have received requests to discuss new designs that could potentially go into production.”


    “Sounds good to me mr…?” adam said, letting the question hang in the air.


    “Ah yes, I forgot to introduce myself.” Archangel said as he straightend his posture, “I am Guardian-01 designation: Archangel. My human name however is Luciano Bencivenga. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Guardian-07.


    Adam blinked. “You’re Italian?”


    “Correct. I hail from Florence,” Archangel confirmed. “Military police, then special operations. I died in Jakarta during the Indonesian civil war while trying to evacuate some diplomats and a couple of priests.”


    Adam nodded slowly. “So even back then, you were playing guardian angel.”


    Archangel didn’t smile, but there was something in his eyes that softened. “I did what I could. It wasn’t enough. That’s why I accepted the offer when it came.”


    Morgan raised an eyebrow. “They gave you a choice?”


    “They asked,” Archangel said. “I answered. Some of us were never given that luxury, sadly.”


    Adam said nothing. The way Archangel spoke, it didn’t sound like pride. It sounded more melancholic in his opinion, bordering on something akin to sadness.


    Adam gave a nod. “Well, good to meet you. For what it’s worth, I’m Adam Stafford. Former DoD analyst. Dead in traffic.”


    Archangel''s mouth twitched—almost a smile. “Then we are all brought here by strange paths.”


    He extended a hand. Adam took it. The grip was strong but not forceful.


    “I suspect this will not be our last conversation,” Archangel said. “You’ve shifted the tone here, Stafford. Make sure you’re ready for what comes next.”


    Then he turned and disappeared into the background again, leaving just the ambient hum of fading discussions behind.


    Morgan leaned over. “You know, it isn''t often that the Angel of Saint Peter’s decides to talk to you. Consider that a good thing.


    Adam glanced back toward the other clusters of Guardians still talking. Some were laughing. Others were locked in quiet discussion, heads tilted close like conspirators.


    “Think he means it?” Adam asked, “that I started something?”


    Morgan shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if he means it. It’s already started.”


    ***


    It didn’t take long before the summit was officially declared over, and Guardians were cleared to return to their outposts, fortresses, or zones of control. One by one, Guardians left the node before eventually, Archangel, Morgan, and Adam were the only ones left.


    Morgan gave a stretch, cracking his neck with a motion that was more habit than necessity. “Well,” he said, “guess that’s our cue. If you need anything—or just feel like lobbing artillery at some demons—hit me up.”


    He gave a lazy peace sign, then vanished without another word.


    Adam remained, alone with Archangel. The taller Guardian finally turned to him. “Good work today; it was a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said. “And may God help you on your trials ahead.”


    Adam tilted his head slightly. “What do you mean by that?”


    Archangel didn’t answer. Instead, he raised one hand and made the sign of the cross as the air shimmered around him. Barely even half a second later, Archangel finally left the node.


    “...Well, that was weird,” Adam thought as he opened the return command and braced himself.


    The node dissolved around him in a flicker of static.


    Within seconds, he was back inside Alpha Complex.


    And the alarms were already screaming.